All Your Lives
by Black Licorice Addict
Summary: Some love stories are fleeting, but some transcend across many lifetimes. Before they were superheroes, they were vikings.


_This was a Christmas present for Jncera as part of the Young Justice exchange. It took me a bit to upload it, but I had to revise it a bit. I hope you all enjoy the Spitfire as much as I've enjoyed Spitfiring. _

_Disclaimer: YJ is part of DC comics and Cartoon Network and sadly does not belong to me._

* * *

**All Your Lives**

The first life they shared was during a time of warring clans of vikings. He was entering his twenties, a veritable bachelor due to the overpopulation of males on the island. Wallace was one of the village's best warriors; none but the chief could best him in swordplay, for he was too swift and too cunning of mind.

But he was not immune to illness, which prevented him from accompanying the last raiding party that sailed two moons ago. His fever broke four days after their departure, and by the time they returned, armored shields glinting in the brilliant dawn, he was himself again.

Or at least he was until he saw the spoils of war aboard the nearest ship. Raiding parties dispatched by their tribe nearly always returned with women, but one face stood out in particular, even at a distance. Her hair was a resplendent golden, matched only by the fiery circle now ascending into the heavens. And her face was contorted into a most fierce glare, as though she might battle the entire island and win back her freedom. He was instantly smitten, as one who has awakened from a long sleep and found himself at the gates of Valhalla.

But he knew he would not be the only contender vying for her affections; he would have to participate in the Challenge. And he was almost certain he knew who stood between him and the beautiful Valkyrie.

Joar, the chieftain, had a son that was well into his mid-twenties and without wife. Though it was not for a lack of his father attempting to secure him one and pass down leadership of the clan to his family—the snow-haired son simply refused all maidens brought before him thus far, citing their unworthiness of someone befitting the next clan ruler. The swordsman knew the wretched son would not be able to resist the beauty of the new captive.

As he predicted, the son's eyes widened as the prisoners were paraded through the main square, an evil glint flashing in his icy orbs as he beheld the blonde who had been shackled more thoroughly than her counterparts. Even an unobservant bystander could see she was a warrior by her muscled arms and legs, taught with apprehension under the scrutiny she found herself.

"Who would speak for this one?" Demanded an elder as she was brought upon a makeshift stage. The captive turned to face Wallace, and from his position the swordsman could see the color of her eyes: stormy gray, like the skies when Thor was in an ill temper.

"I will!" He proclaimed at the same time as the chieftain's son. A hush fell over the people. The elder glanced at the chief, his face torn in conflict. Joar owed his swordsman his life on more than one occasion, but rewarding him would mean denying his own flesh and blood the one thing that would ensure their lineage. It was an impossible situation. Grimly, the leader set his face and nodded once at the elder before turning his gaze to his favorite warrior.

"Wallace, last descendent of the family where the sun sleeps, do you accept your fate, either choice, at the hand of the one to issue the Challenge?" Joar asked, his voice clear and unwavering. The swordsman nodded.

"I accept," he replied without hesitation.

The blonde woman's eyes darted back and forth between the two men; her gaze briefly catching the red headed swordsman's. He was happy to note they didn't hold any hate or hostility—more like clouds across the sky, full of uncertainty. He briefly wondered if she even spoke their language.

The voice of their chieftain snapped him back to attention. "Cameron, my son," boomed the chief, "Think hard on what you would have done. Would you have him give his right eye? Or would you fight him in combat?"

Wallace was only mildly surprised that the ice prince chose to battle him; he was no friend of the uncaring son, and he had bested him on more than one occasion.

The Challenge was moved to their makeshift arena, the one used by the tribal warriors to train for battle. The oval was cleared of all weaponry; only their swords in their hands remained.

Wallace had not even broken into a sweat when he disarmed his opponent, his weapon pointed at the mop of white hair at the base of Cameron's neck. "Do you yield?" The red head demanded in a low, deathly tone.

"I yield," Cameron hissed, each syllable laced with venom. But, just as the elder proclaimed Wallace's victory, Cameron brought his sword up, slicing at the victor's right eye.

Wallace, caught off guard for once, had no time to block the strike. There was a loud outcry from the villagers, and the red head found himself being ushered to the nearest healer's home, scraps of fabric pressed to his face to stop the bleeding. He thought he might have heard a woman's shrill yell, swearing in an unfamiliar tongue, but he felt a bit disoriented and instead focused his attention on watching where he placed his feet.

The remainder of the day passed by in a blur, and it was well after the sun hid behind the waves lapping the island that Wallace found himself before the enclosure that served as a holding place for prisoners. The healer's words were not very encouraging: she was uncertain whether or not he'd ever be able to see out of his eye again. There was no word of any disciplinary actions taken towards the chief's son, but Wallace hadn't expected there to be.

Loud creaking shattered his trail of thought as the heavy wooden door opened, revealing his prize still in chains being lead toward him. He was given the key to the locks by the jail proctor, and he silently took the heavy metal bindings and led her to his home near the edge of the settlement. Her glare was back in full force; Wallace could feel her anxiety, like a spring ready to pounce.

They came to his wooden shelter, thick logs interlocked with a sturdy roof and a round door which he opened to allow her entrance. The minute it shut with a resounding thud, the blonde woman jumped and attempted to pull away her shackles. Wallace immediately released her.

"I mean you no harm," he said calmly, reaching for the different locks and twisting the key inside. Her wrists were chaffed and red, but they were free. And she immediately used that freedom to dart to the side and snag his hunting bow and arrows.

"I'd put that down if I were you," his voice warned, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.

She ignored him and let fly the first arrow. He whipped out his sword and sliced it away.

"I'm not in a gaming mood," he informed her, and he was certain she could detect the annoyance in his tone even if she didn't speak his language. Still, she released a second arrow which he dispatched just as readily.

"You will be making me new ones," he growled, slowly advancing on her as she continued to direct his supply of arrows at his face. He was upon her before they ran out.

Then, to his amazement, she used the bow like a cudgel, knocking it against his own blade with a force that nearly tipped him off balance. But swordsmanship was his expertise, and he soon had her disarmed and looking down the sharp edge of his weapon.

"Do you yield?" He demanded, his voice a dangerous baritone. Her gray eyes glittered in anger and…fear?

"I will not yield," she spoke at last, having understood everything he said. "I will not submit. I will not be defiled by you." Her voice was gravelly and hauntingly melodious, and it nearly took him completely off guard. He lowered his sword.

"I do not wish to hurt you," he reiterated. "And I will not defile you."

She snorted, but it held no mirth. "Is that not why you fought? Is that not what your challenge was for? Who gets the privilege of making me submit?"

"I GAVE MY EYE FOR IN IN HOPE THAT—" He stopped mid-yell, swallowing the words that had almost tumbled out unbidden. _That I might win your love._

"In hope that _what_?" She demanded, her words taking a sharp lilt. But he already shrugged her off, the day's events finally catching up to him. His eye burned in pain, and he ached for a good night's rest. He'd need it to go make more arrows for hunting, especially now that there were two mouths to feed.

"I'm going to sleep," he informed her, shrugging off his outer vestments. "You can share the other half of my bed, or you can lie on the pelt by the fire. I don't really care."

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him discard everything until only a long, plain white tunic was left to ward off the chill. "What makes you think I won't leave the minute you fall asleep?" She bit back, arms crossed.

Wallace crawled under the thick furs covering his bed. "Because my people would hunt you down and kill you for escaping," he retorted.

"What if I just killed you in your sleep first?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "You wouldn't. Because you're a warrior, and if you have any honor, which I suspect you do, you wouldn't attack me if I couldn't defend myself."

She gave a disgruntled noise which he (correctly) assumed to mean that he was right about her. Then, with as much haughty composure as she could muster, she laid down in front of the crackling flames, embers glowing brilliantly at her, reminding her of her companion's hair. Exhaustion gradually set in. She was almost asleep when she heard him ask her a question.

"Hey, what's your name?"

"Artemis," she yawned before succumbing to the snares of slumber.

The next morning, Artemis awoke to the smell of broth simmering in a pot in the fireplace. She sat up only to realize another pelt had been arranged over her sometime in the night. Her house mate was nowhere to be found.

"Morning!" He burst through the door holding an armful of sturdy branches. She quickly realized he was not jesting about the arrow comment. "Brought some wood for arrows. We'll make them over breakfast." He dropped the pile right in front of her then handed her a whittling knife.

"You're serious?" She demanded.

"Absolutely," he riposted cheerfully, ladling the soup into two bowls. "Enjoy."

Making new arrows took up the entire morning and part of the afternoon. She'd protested that he'd never go through them all, but he just smiled and told her that _you never knew when you'd need them._

"Come," he held a hand out to help her up from the bearskin rug in front of the mantel, "Let's go hunt our dinner."

She swatted his hand away easily, pushing herself up and ignoring the brief pained look flitting across the freckles lightly dusting his nose. "Yes, let us be gone from this cramped space. I am in need of a good laugh, swordsman."

"My name is Wallace," he replied evenly, hooking his bow and quiver over his shoulders. "You need not call me 'swordsman.'"

"Are we conversing all evening, or are we hunting?" She retorted over her shoulder as she opened the door. Wallace didn't think it would look very good to have him kill off one of the few women on the island, but he was beginning to not care as he followed her form, grumbling before pulling the door closed behind them.

As it turned out, Artemis didn't laugh nearly as much as she hoped—he was a fairly decent hunter, and his aim was respectable all things considered.

"Tssk," she chided after approaching the reindeer he shot through the abdomen. "The meat will have a blood flavor now."

"And I suppose you could do better?" He retorted, ripping the arrow out of the stag's side. It was almost nightfall, and he was more than tempted to either leave the blonde woman in the woods to fend for herself or make her drag the animal carcass back home.

"Yes."

She said it with such certainty that Wally spared her a skeptical glance, her gray eyes challenging his, almost begging for a fight.

"Fine." He handed her the worn bow and an arrow. "Prove it."

Gingerly, she accepted the weapon, feeling the tautness of the string and inspecting the balance of the arrow he supplied her. It was one she had made that morning.

"Well?" Artemis could hear the impatience in his voice. She hadn't really expected anything else considering how she had done nothing but taunt him since she had awoken that morning. Tuning out her exasperated companion, Artemis focused on the sounds of the forest surrounding them. Several birds cawed noisily from the treetops. Bushes rustled two dozen yards away. Branches creaked and groaned under the weight of the animals traversing their paths.

"Do you prefer fowl or squirrel?" She inquired calmly as she notched her arrow.

"Whichever is furthest," he goaded, crossing his arms, his mouth in a decidedly condescending smirk.

"Fair enough," she rejoined, swiftly taking aim at a tree nearly a hundred yards away.

"Hey," his smirk began to slide. "You better not waste—"

_Woosh…THWUMP!_

Too curious to make a derisive remark, Wally rushed to the tree where Artemis let fly her arrow. There, at the base of the trunk, was a dead squirrel.

Disbelief clouded his face as he gingerly picked up the squirrel, arrow sticking squarely out of his eye.

"Ruins the meat if you hit the belly," the blonde tutted, adopting a casual air as she observed his reaction.

"How did you do that?" He demanded, excitement bubbling through his voice despite himself.

"Practice," she deadpanned, removing the arrow from her prize.

"Show me," Wallace insisted, looking at her with barely containedenthusiasm**_._**

"Show you what? You saw how I did it-"

"Teach me how to shoot like that." His mouth was forming a hopeful smile. Artemis was tempted to dash all that hope into the dirt below them, but another thought popped into her head. She could use this to her advantage.

"I'll make you a deal," she began, watching as his smile became a reserved mask of skepticism.

"What kind of deal?" He queried, dark green eye narrowing with suspicion as though he might anticipate what she was about to ask.

"I'll teach you how to properly use a bow," she began, hooking his bow over her shoulder. "And in exchange, you will show me how to fight with your swords."

It was an impossible predicament. Anyone who knew Wallace knew his thirst of knowledge was one of his greatest weaknesses. He wanted desperately to learn the techniques that made his companion such an impressive archer, but doing so would require him to make her an even more formidable warrior. Wallace knew he could never force her to instruct him in her ways; she was far too stubborn, and he wouldn't do anything that might jeopardize their chances for friendship.

After a pregnant pause, Wallace spit in his hand and held it out for her to shake. "Deal."

To his surprise, she did the same. "Deal."

* * *

Artemis would never voice it out loud, but her captor wasn't a half-bad shot. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he could hit most everything he wanted. The problem was he fired at the largest part of his target, which tended to be the abdomen and flank, and occasionally the chest.

"Don't aim for their stomach," she hissed, pulling the wooden shaft out of the small buck's chest. "You're trying to NOT ruin the meat, _remember_?"

"I've missed the last three heads I've shot at, in case you hadn't noticed," he groused as he hauled his kill back to their village. "We're not going to have anything to eat for the cold months at this rate."

The blonde cuffed him on the back of his head, using his momentary shock to take the bow from him. "Let me worry about our supply of game. You need to practice with some targets. I won't eat anymore bloodied meat!"

They argued all the way back home. He didn't want to dull any of his sharpened arrowheads because he didn't have time to spare resharpening them. She quickly countered that she was perfectly capable of whetting the dull stones herself. He griped about ruining perfectly good wooden shafts. She pointed out they had whittled several dozen that one morning, which would be plenty to last them several weeks. He grumbled about hunting expeditions taking twice as long. She responded by cuffing him on the back of the head again.

"Do you want to learn how to be an expert archer or not?" Artemis demanded in an exasperated huff.

In the end, he deferred to all the changes she made to his routine. And, once they trudged past all their petty bickering, he was pleasantly surprised to find Artemis a most patient teacher. She made gradual tweaks to his form: adjusting the way he held the shaft around the fletching, pushing his elbow down in a straighter line with the arrow, showing him how to inhale and exhale with each shot. She even attempted to show him a few tricks to compensate for the fact that one eye was still covered by a bandage.

It was hard breaking the habits he had formed with years of learning the art by himself, and it was even more frustrating to not see immediate positive results. Still, Wally had spent his whole life training to become a master swordsman, and he knew that mastery only came with dedication, practice, and superior teachers.

"Aim higher," she flicked his ear, annoyed at having to repeat herself for the umpteenth time. Wallace closed his eyes and groaned audibly. He was going to shoot her if she didn't get to him first.

"We've been doing this since the sun crested those hills. How about a break?" He opened the eye not covered by a bandage to gauge her reaction. She was not amused.

"Quitting already?" Her voice was pure acid.

"More like… changing paces," he amended, unsheathing both swords strapped to his back. "You've kept your part of our bargain so far. I suppose it's time I do the same. How about we do a little sparing before resuming our hunt?"

The red head watched as uncertainty flickered behind sharp gray eyes before it was replaced with something he thought might be eagerness. He held a sword out to her.

"Very well," she accepted the sword, well aware that they were leaving her area of expertise and that she was making herself vulnerable to this not-quite stranger. Her eyes darted to where the bow was laying nearby; she wondered if she could reach it in time if things went south.

"You've handled a sword before." His voice brought her back to the situation at hand.

"A shorter, thinner blade," she replied, surprised at her own honesty. She would need to be more careful. It was better that he didn't know the full extent of her weaponry training.

"Fair enough," he said, moving to stand beside her. "But these require a different grip than what you may be used to. The way you hold a sword is crucial; it could mean the difference between survival and being disarmed then gorged."

"Lovely thought," she snipped, but Wally either didn't hear her or didn't care. He was all serious and business-like now. She marveled at the transformation, at this side of him that she hadn't witnessed since that fateful day he'd fought the chief's son for her. Had it really been only nine sunrises ago? Her gaze unconsciously drifted to the bandage covering his right eye, and she wondered if it still pained him.

"Focus," he chided, adjusting her fingers around the hilt of his spare weapon. "Sword fighting, like archery, requires focus. Yes! Hold it like that! We'll start with a few basic moves..."

And so it went. She'd rouse him before dawn to hunt and practice archery, and he'd take her back to the forest with dusk settling over the land to teach her swordplay away from prying eyes. They would come back to Wallace's hut with whatever poor creature happened upon either adult's line of sight. Wallace was still dejected about his lack of progress, but Artemis pointed out that he had shot the last hare through the neck, which was an improvement from his previous targets. He thought Artemis was the better protégé between the two of them-she was a natural at fighting and required only minimal repetitions before adapting to his teachings. The red head suspected his blonde companion had more training than she would openly admit, but he kept that tidbit to himself.

Although he would never say it out loud, Wallace was really, _really _enjoying the benefits of having a companion. While there were now two mouths to feed and two people to make preparations for, he didn't have to rise extra early or go to bed long after the rest of the village had climbed under their furs for the night doing menial chores that used to require his attention.

Artemis would clean and prepare all the game they killed in the mornings while Wallace went to the village proper to take care of business with the chief, to trade, or to train with the other warriors of the tribe.

Sometimes he visited the blacksmith's shop to test the balance of the swords. If the blacksmith, his uncle, was behind on his orders to sharpen and forge new blades, Wally stepped in to help make those as well. He knew basic smelting skills and was adept enough at not getting underfoot that his uncle was happy to have the extra set of hands. The older man still kept a wary eye trained on his nephew for fear of a repeat incident many years ago when the boy was a wee lad and had nearly destroyed the forge.

If his business in the village did not take all day, Wallace returned to his home by the sun's zenith to partake in the noon meal with Artemis. He was happily surprised at her cooking skills; she could make a meal seem quite hearty using only half of the meat amount he tended to add, not an easy feat as his stomach was practically an abyss.

Wallace showed her the food store room next to his home where he kept the various plants gathered over the past year, pointing out which ones were good for spices and which ones had healing properties. Her eyes lingered at several of the more exotic spices he had gathered on his raids, and he wondered just how far away she was from home.

They fell into an easy routine punctuated by spurts of arguing and perhaps a rare word of praise hidden betwixt comments of indifference. But everything changed a month into Artemis's captivity, sending their relationship off a mountain, ready to cascade downward into an all-consuming, thrilling avalanche.

The nights had steadily been dropping in temperature until it was well below freezing after sunset. Even the roaring fire before her and the thick bear pelt covering her could not ward out the chill that stole through the cracks in the shelter that she hadn't had time yet to fix. The last few nights had left her restless and burrowing under the dark fur until she was nothing but a curled ball of frustrated ice. Even adding kindling to the fire couldn't thaw her frigid nose and fingertips.

She only saw one option to fix her predicament.

After tossing several more logs into the fire one evening, Artemis wrapped her crude blanket tightly around her shoulders and cautiously crept toward the bed. His light snores indicated that he was quite far into dreamland, and not for the first time Artemis wondered if she shouldn't just use this opportunity to escape. Wallace's words echoed in her head from all those weeks ago.

_"You could try to escape, but we always keep guard over our boats. And even if you did manage to take one, the frosts will set in and you'd be as good as dead trying to navigate those waters before spring."_

She hated the fact that he was right almost as much as she hated the fact that he knew what she was thinking just by observing her.

And now she was going to sleep in the same bed as him. Freya help her.

Heart pounding, Artemis gently pulled back pelt after pelt, making sure there was still one layer between her and the red head. So focused was she on her task that she failed to notice the absence of Wallace's snores. The pallet sunk slightly at the new weight on its other side. Artemis breathed a small sigh of relief at the success of her mission when a voice set her nerves on edge.

"Cold?"

He didn't even turn over to face her, and Artemis knew that despite the sleep lacing his voice he was wide awake.

"If you try anything, I will cut off whatever touches me with that sword you keep beneath your head," she threatened, putting as much venom into her words as she could without letting him hear her teeth chatter.

"Or that dagger you keep hidden on your left leg?" He supplied, already drifting back to sleep.

Well, damn. Despite the ridiculous facade he put on for everyone, her included, Wallace was even more astute than she gave him credit. She would need to stop underestimating him; he was a deceptively dangerous man. Not for the first time, she felt a thrill of something unknown shoot up her spine, leaving electrifying tingles at the nape of her neck.

"Or that," she agreed, allowing her eyelashes flutter shut as the shores of dreamland beckoned her thither.

The first week of their new sleeping arrangements went in similar fashion. Artemis glared at him with unspoken threats to which he merely shrugged off and turned over, seemingly falling asleep almost immediately. They stayed on their respective sides of the bed, occasionally getting up during the night to add more wood to the fire crackling merrily in the hearth.

But Artemis had unknowingly been letting her guard down a little more each night until one particularly cold morning when she found her nose pressed between his shoulders, arms and legs tucked snugly against the rest of him with only a layer of fur separating the two. The telltale absence of logs popping in the fireplace and the chill that had permeated the air in the hut spoke volumes. Wallace had not risen during the night to keep the fire going, leading the blonde to believe they had been in this position for some time. He didn't want to wake her by getting up, but at the same time he had respected her boundaries and not turned to face her, allowing her to leech off the warmth he radiated.

His breathing was even, in and out, in and out. But Artemis had enough practice at knowing that he was probably awake right now, waiting for her to wake up, realize her position, and pretend to turn over in her sleep away from him.

She was about to do just that, but the happy prickling at her neck migrated down to her stomach, and the swarm of bees that awakened there would not be denied. Hunting could wait. Warm feelings could not.

Wallace's surprise was almost palpable as she burrowed her nose back into his spine and curled more tightly into his frame, determined to absorb all the heat he was willing to share.

* * *

"He's really warming up to you," one of the village women, Megan, told her conspiratorially as they spun wool in the structure at the edge of the settlement where women stayed during their unclean time of the month.

"Pfffft. What makes you say that?" Artemis rebutted, adding more wool to her strand of yarn.

"Well, he brought you that enormous stack of wood," Megan nodded toward a sizeable pile of logs that could barely be contained next to the hearth in the large room. "Not to mention that large buck for everyone here. He's only ever brought small game for us and firewood that might amount to half that. And Odin forbid you get bored while you're here, so he brings you arrows to make and wool to spin!" The red headed woman was grinning smugly at her blonde companion. Artemis rolled her eyes, but her new friend's words were truth enough.

She could argue that Wallace wouldn't want his captive to freeze because then she couldn't do his grunt work of making clothes from wool and arrows for hunting, but the buck was quite a surprise as he was always carefully rationing their food stores to ensure that they both could survive until the warmer months. She was also secretly pleased that the arrow wound was right below the buck's jaw through its jugular; he was still practicing in her absence.

"I bet he'll want to have the marriage ceremony before Yuletide," Megan continued dreamily, bringing Artemis out of her musings.

"Excuse me? Who said I want to be married to him?" Artemis demanded. Heat flared across her cheeks, and she lost her hold on the twisted wool, breaking the yarn strand in half.

Cassandra, another village woman who was staying in the hut, came over to help fix the frayed end. Artemis had an immediate liking for the young, dark haired girl. She spoke little with actual words, but her actions spoke volumes. She had not been captured like the other women, but instead had come to the island of her own free will, half-carrying a warrior that had been lost at sea during one of the raids and thought dead.

The amazing young woman nursed him back to health over their journey and had planned on leaving him in the care of the village before returning to her homeland. But no one ever plans for love, and nearly two years after arriving, Cassandra was still there, married now and a part of the tribe. The only time Artemis ever saw her smile was when the dark haired girl spoke of Jason, her husband, both the apple of her eye and the idiot she was forever tasked of keeping out of trouble.

"He will marry you soon," Cassandra agreed, handing Artemis back her newly repaired strand of yarn. "Before spring."

Artemis rolled her eyes at the misfortune of being stuck with two hopeless romantics for another five days.

* * *

A bath was drawn and waiting for her back at their home when she returned. She didn't know if she was more shocked at conceding that it was indeed _their_ home or at her companion's thoughtfulness. A privacy screen of woolen sheets was hung around the metal tub, and a pot of boiling water was suspended above the fire just in case the water was already too cold. Artemis smiled and decided she didn't care.

* * *

He watched her with unguarded interest as she wove the straw-colored strands in intricate braids around the crown of her head.

"What?" she huffed, fighting the rush of crimson threatening to bloom across her cheeks. She always felt a bit self-conscious when he did this, and he had been doing it for some time now.

"Show me how to do that," he replied, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice. Artemis was reminded of the time he saw her shoot that squirrel.

The blonde made a show of sighing exasperatedly, but it was only to cover up the beehive currently awakening in her belly once more. "Come here." She took his calloused hands in hers, briefly marveling at their ability to be so warm when it was so cold outside, and began to move his fingers to form a simple, three-stranded braid.

By the next new moon he was braiding her hair every night as they quietly sat before the fire.

* * *

"WALLY!" She screeched, causing several of their target birds to startle and fly out of the treetops. "I TOLD YOU TO AIM FOR THE HEART!"

Wallace didn't hear the second part of the lecture. His mind had stopped thinking after she shouted the nickname that only his best friends, his uncle, and his long deceased parents called him.

"What did you say?" He breathed, unable to stop the smile tugging on his lips. Artemis's breath rolled out in a cloud of mist, a fire breathing dragon ready to slay the knight before her.

"What, are you deaf now as well?" She flicked his forehead above the cloth strip still covering his right eye. "I said to hit them in the heart! That's three fowl that you've ruined this morning."

Ignoring the imminent danger of his actions, the red head placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "No, you called me Wally."

She suddenly looked uncomfortable under his happy gaze, but it only took her a moment to recover. "It just came out. It's easier to get through that thick skull of yours when I use small words." The blonde brushed his hands aside in a huff, ready to change the subject when his voice called out to her again.

"You can call me Wally. I don't mind."

He couldn't see it, but he swore he could hear the smile in her voice when she countered, "Well, if it makes you aim better, I suppose you could use all the help you can get."

* * *

Something was...different. The blonde blearily blinked sleep out of her eyes as she looked around for the reason her consciousness was pulled from the throws of sleep. Not sensing any immediate danger, Artemis made to roll over and burrow more deeply into the nest of animal furs, but a weight across her stomach startled her into full alertness.

Wally, she had noticed, moved a lot in his sleep, usually alternating between laying on his side and his stomach. Over the weeks, both adults had migrated to the center of the pallet to share warmth, but he had always stayed out of the realm of Artemis's personal space despite whatever position she ended up pressed next to him in the morning.

But tonight, after a particularly vigorous training session with the other tribal warriors, Wally was in the deepest slumber Artemis had ever seen. And, in his unconscious state, he had rolled onto his stomach, right arm coming to rest across his companion's waist. She thought of the weapon beneath his pillow and the dagger still strapped to her thigh, both of which would make short work of his arm. But that idea was neatly quashed right after it entered her thoughts by the most delicious shivers coursing through her veins that had nothing to do with the cold.

The arm wasn't really doing anything other than radiating warmth, Artemis reasoned. And she could never be _too _warm. So she simple turned on her side, facing the exhausted warrior, and fell back asleep.

Since his head was buried in the pillow, Artemis would never see the small smile gracing his lips.

* * *

_SHHHIINKK._

The sword flew out of his hand and stuck in the snow ten feet away. She had finally successfully disarmed him, and he had no other weapons on his person save a small whetting knife at his left waist.

Artemis stared him down over the blade of his second sword, her chest moving up and down rapidly from the vigor of their spar, breaths leaving her mouth in graceful white plumes.

The sharpened tip was pointed at his heart, and they both knew in that moment he was at her mercy. As quick as he was, Wally knew he could never reach his weapon in time. He could see that very thought flit through her sharp gray eyes, but he wasn't afraid. The only emotion he felt was a leaden weight sinking inside his chest.

So when she sheathed her sword with a satisfied smirk and a "Ready to go again?", Wally's heart felt like it could fly across the seas forever.

"Always."

That night, Artemis unstrapped her dagger from her thigh and placed it beneath her pillow. Wally, ignoring all former pretenses, wrapped his arm around Artemis, and she let him.

* * *

It was a quiet evening in their home. The wind had died down for a spell, allowing the white snowflakes to freefall from the sky in languorous fashion. Wally had finished regaling her with stories of previous Yuletides in the village and was placidly braiding her hair on the pelt in front of the hearth.

Artemis listened intently, a languid smile casually forming as he recalled a particularly funny story involving him, his best friend, and a very disgruntled sheep. She turned her head slightly, admiring his handwork at the end of her hair; he was almost better than her at fixing the plaits now. Her eyes traced the shadows flickering across his jawline up to the bandage still adorning his eye all these months later. Her hand came up of its own accord, index finger lightly tracing the coarse fabric across the bridge of his nose and upper cheek. His voice stopped mid-sentence, and his hands ceased their journey down the blonde trails.

"Did you really lose sight out of this eye?" Her voice was light, but it carried to his ears, almost remorsefully. She made to remove her hand, but he brought his up to cover hers.

"I...I don't know," he admitted, voice raw with an emotion that Artemis had never seen him display. Wally was afraid.

"I'm sorry." And, for the first time, Artemis could truly mean it. Here was a man that would have risked an eye regardless to save her from a far worse fate that she might have faced. He could have been mean, hateful, judgmental, and harsh toward her. But no, he had taken her into his home, had fed her, made sure she was taken care of, and even taught her to become a better swordswoman. He had permitted her to remain armed, to hunt and shoot a bow, to only be in his immediate presence if she was comfortable with it.

He had never, for one moment, stopped treating her like she was a person and not a captive. And she realized now that to him, she had never been his prisoner.

"Don't be sorry," he replied, his good green eye suddenly looking at her with an expression akin to tenderness. "I got to see you with both eyes at least once. I couldn't really ask for more than that."

The warmth that had been slowly building up in her stomach finally burst, spreading through the rest of her body to the very tips of her hair still draped over his other hand. She moved without thinking, covering his lips with her own. But he was already there, always ready to meet her halfway when she finally caught up to him.

Gently, she unwound the scraps of fabric from his face, letting them fall to the floor. Their foreheads touched, and he kissed the tip of her nose before pulling away and slowly opening his eyes.

He could see her hopeful visage through his good eye, but only a blurred outline with splotches of color and shadow out the other.

"Do you see me?" she inquired, her hand finding his as she took in the blue sheen of his scarred eye.

"I see you clearly through this eye, as radiant as the sun bursting through the clouds. And I see you through this eye-" he tapped the orb marred by the chief's son's blade-"as one dreaming, still a vision of beauty, but through a cloud of mist in front of a waterfall." Wally leaned in closer once more, his words ghosting over her lips in delightful anticipation.

"Still think you're dreaming?" He could feel her smile against his mouth, returning one of his own.

"If I am," he cupped her face in both his hands, bringing her gaze to meet his, "don't ever wake me up."

* * *

_Present day_

Long tanned legs were draped over the side of the couch, her freshly washed hair spilling across his lap as they watched the Stanford football team on their flatscreen. She was haphazardly clad in one of his oversized college sweatshirts, wet locks drenching his old gray sweatpants. But Wally didn't mind. His hands seemed to move of their own accord, fingers gently combing the blonde strands, working out the tangles and knots. Absentmindedly, his digits recalled an old muscle memory and began weaving more defined paths through Artemis's hair.

Artemis, a thoroughly contented puddle of mush under Wally's ministrations, brushed her hand along the plait, marveling at how precise and symmetric it was.

"When did you learn how to braid hair?" She questioned, her mouth quirking upward in a teasing grin.

Wally looked down at his handiwork, eyes wide at the subconscious actions of his hands. "Honestly, I have no idea, babe." He shrugged, a smirk playing across his own mouth. "I guess you could say I'm a man of many talents."

Oh yes. But she already knew that.


End file.
